Whenever Wherever Whatever
by smc-27
Summary: For a split second, you think you might kiss him. It's crazy, and you don't do it, but it's the first time you've even thought of kissing someone who isn't Lucas. You fall asleep wondering if he's ever thought about kissing you. Peyton/Skills S5 Oneshot


**A/N:** Skills/Peyton. It's definitely different. Set S5. The title comes from Maxwell's song of the same name off the album _Maxwell's Urban Hang Suite_.

**----**

You can't like him.

You can't.

He's your ex-boyfriend/almost fiancé's oldest friend, and he's _got_ to pick sides (doesn't he?), and he was once the biggest advocate for that relationship that failed so miserably. He told you once that he was the one who made Lucas see the light and want to be with you. He said he'd told Lucas about making choices or something, and that helped push the boy in your direction. You smile at him and nod sadly, because that's all in the past, and it's all very evident. He says he likes Lindsey, but she "ain't got nothin' on you," and you laugh and you pretend you aren't crying and he pretends he doesn't know you're crying.

So you can't like him.

You can't.

But he's making it easy.

He's welcomed you back with open arms, when everyone else questioned your motives. He sipped beer with you on the steps at Tric when you wanted to be alone but didn't really want to be alone. He'd just stay with you and not say anything, until he'd say something so ridiculous that you'd have to laugh. He'd throw his arm around you and tell you it would be alright and that if it wasn't, you had better tell him first.

He helped you get through a wedding. He rest his hand on your shoulder and gave it a squeeze, as though he was telling you that you were stronger than a breakdown, but that if you needed him to hold you up, he would.

You wonder why you were never better friends.

After the wedding that didn't even end up happening, everyone's nerves are shot, and you find yourself biting back tears as you regret all the moments you've missed in that little boy's life and feeling helpless because there's nothing you can do right now to help him or Haley or Nathan, and you step back from the crowd a little bit. You feel like the outsider. Everyone else has been there all along, except for Brooke, but even she's the boy's Godmother. You're just an extra. A player in the scene who could be cut right out and no one would notice.

You pour Haley a glass of water, because it's the least that you can do, and she looks at you with grateful eyes, but she doesn't say a word and that's okay; you didn't expect her to.

But Skills comes over when you're sitting by yourself, and he places his hand on your back, and you're both feeling awful. He thinks Jamie's disappearance is his fault, and he won't listen to anyone who tells him it's not, and you just almost watched the person you thought you'd marry get married to someone else.

"He's gotta come back," he says, and he doesn't look at you, and you think that if he did, you'd see tears in his eyes, and that might break your heart a little more.

"He will," you say, and you turn to him and slip your hand into his. He closes his eyes and nods his head, and you think he might almost believe you.

Lucas walks in and heads straight for Haley, and Skills drops your hand like he's betraying his best friend to have ever been holding it, and that's alright with you. You aren't sure why.

Jamie strolls into the room so nonchalantly that you'd laugh if you weren't about to cry, and you and Brooke are clinging to each other because it feels right to do so. But you catch Skills' eye across the room and you send him a gentle look as if to say, "I told you so." He smiles back and blinks slowly and it's somehow just like a thank you.

All you want to do that night is either cry, get drunk, or sleep. Possibly all three. That'd be great. But when he approaches you and tells you that you're hanging out with him, you smile and nod your head, and you tell Brooke you'll be fine, that you've got Skills, and then you overhear her telling him that if he doesn't take care of you, he'll regret it. You hear him say that he's got you, and you smile. It's kind of nice for someone to have you.

You end up near the River Court. Not at the River Court. Just on the grass in the empty park a few hundred feet from the blacktop. You're still in your dress, and his jacket is over your shoulders, and you're drinking 7-Up and gin because that's all he had at his apartment. It tastes pretty damn good to you anyway.

"What a day," you observe, shaking your head.

"How are the nerves?" he asks, looking over at you as he refills your plastic cup.

"Non-existent," you say, and you both laugh, because that doesn't really make sense.

"Same," he says. He takes a sip of his drink, and you take a sip of yours, and it's mostly alcohol, but you're just fine with that. "How's the heart?"

"If I say non-existent, will you understand?" you ask, and he lets out a laugh and nods his head. You get the impression that he really does understand, and you feel something like relief.

Brooke has tried, bless her heart, and you know that she should get it. You swap stories and say that you were both in love with that boy, so she knows a thing or two about getting over him, but you aren't sure that she understands that it wasn't the same kind of love, and you don't want to offend her. So you just smile and laugh and you pretend it doesn't kill you when she makes a joke about you and Lucas being too much alike to ever make it work.

You try not to resent her for actually believing that's true.

"What now?" he asks, and you let out a sigh and shrug your shoulders, and he laughs. "I mean we're out of gin."

"Oh. Fuck," you say, like that's the worst possible scenario, and he laughs again and drapes his arm around your shoulder.

"Come on, girl," he says, standing and offering his hand. "Let me get you home."

"I don't want to," you say when you're in front of him. You pound the last of your drink, and when you look back to him, he's looking somehow both amused and worried about your actions.

"Why?"

"Because," you say, and he nods like you've just explained it all in great detail. You kind of love that you don't have to though.

You've both had too much to drink to actually drive, so you walk. You take off your expensive strappy heels, and you hold them in your hands as you stroll along the path through the park and towards the edge of town, and when he makes you laugh, you _really_ laugh. And it feels good, you decide. It feels nice, and it's a feeling in your heart that you've missed that's a little bit like contentment. It's something other than sadness. And you've missed that.

You tell him about your last relationship because you haven't told anyone else, and he raises his brows when you tell him that you lived with a boy and that Lucas broke it all up. He laughs and says that Lucas just seems to ruin everything, doesn't he? And you're only partly joking when you say that he really does.

He tells you about his breakup with Bevin, and you're sympathetic when he says she was his first love and it took a long time to get over it. You wonder if he's telling you that you _will_ get over Lucas eventually. He says he hasn't told anyone other than 'his best friends' about the breakup. You know that means Lucas, but you love that he didn't say the name.

He walks you home around 6:00 in the morning, and you're tired and sore and a little hungover, or maybe just still drunk, and he hugs you, and when he tells you you're going to be alright, you nod your head and actually almost believe him.

Brooke opens the door before you do, and she's scowling at Skills and looking at you disapprovingly, like she's your mother or something, and her hair is a mess. She's in her pajamas and she's got her hand on her hip, and Skills looks a little scared. He probably should be.

"_Where_ have you _been_?" she asks angrily.

"Everywhere?" you offer, sharing a private smile with Skills. It's true. You just walked basically the entire town in an evening.

"I was worried!"

"Sorry," Skills says sincerely.

"Your feet are gross," Brooke notes, glancing down. And she's right. They're dirty, and your pedicure is ruined, but you just laugh and look at him, and he's smiling. "Hang on."

She reaches for a pair of flip flops and you laugh, and she tells you that you're not walking across her hardwood floors with 'those things'. You shake your head, but you oblige her, because she's a little terrifying and it's not a big deal. She walks back into the house, and you turn to Skills and he takes his jacket from your hands. You thank him, and he tells you it's nothing, but you both know he's lying and he'd probably do just about anything for you at this point.

You get inside and Brooke asks you if you're okay, and as soon as you've said yes, she scolds you for walking around all night in a one-of-a-kind, designed-by-Brooke-Davis dress, and she tells you to go shower because you'll feel better. She says it with some sympathy or something and you kind of miss just hanging out with Skills because he's somehow the only one who talks to you without all that.

You stop by his place later in the day with a bottle of gin to replace the one you drank the night before, and Milli answers the door and says that Skills is out, and the look on her face tells you that he's probably with Lucas. You hand her the bottle and you notice Junk and Fergie playing video games, and she just rolls her eyes because they don't even live there. Mouth says hi and asks if you wants to hang out, and you find yourself saying yes before even really thinking.

Skills smiles when he comes through the door and you're sitting there eating pizza and telling his best friends about the time you met Megan Fox at a club in L.A. (a story you've already told him), and you smile because you're happy to see him.

You wonder when the last time was that you were actually happy to see a man. There's a part of you that's really glad he's the one bringing that out in you.

----

Lucas has been gone for a couple weeks, and you're sure that if your heart could break anymore, it might. But it can't, and it's not, and it really isn't all that bad. You missed him before he left, so it's no real change from the way you've been living, only now you don't have to avoid him (or pretend you're avoiding him) and you don't have to worry about seeing him around and being pleasant when all you want to do is scream.

Brooke gets called away to New York, and you hear her on the phone one night saying that she's worried and she wants Haley and Nathan to watch over you, and you wonder if there'll ever come a time when you won't be looked at as some unstable child.

Well, not everyone looks at you like that.

You get tickets to go see Kanye West, and they're amazing seats, since you're in the 'industry', and Nathan walks into your office with your mail in his hands. He says he picked it up on the way in, and he laughs when you tear into the Ticketmaster envelope. He mentions something about deja vu from being teenagers when you'd drag him to shows.

"My Kanye tickets!" you say happily, holding up the two slim pieces of paper.

"Nice," he says, nodding appreciatively. "You need a date?"

"Nice try."

"Come on. It'll be like when we went to see Outkast when we were together."

"That was awesome," you say appreciatively.

"Hell yeah it was." There's a boyish look on his face and you know he's referring to you two having sex in the back of his truck on the way home from the concert.

"Perv," you say and you both laugh. "I meant the _show_. It was good."

"So who are you going to the concert with?" he asks, and you find yourself smiling, but you don't realize it until he looks at you strangely.

You wonder when the last time was that your friends saw you genuinely smile. Apparently quite some time, since he thinks it's weird that you're doing it now.

"Oh. Well, Skills really wants to go, and..."

"And he couldn't get his own ticket?" Nathan asks in amusement.

"I know some people," you say, because it's safe and it makes it seem like you haven't been on the phone for a week, trying to get these tickets as a surprise for your friend.

"Well, you're coming to our place for dinner tonight whether you want to or not. I'll drop you off there after?" he suggests.

You nod your head and grab your things, and when you text Skills to say you'll be by later, he texts back just, "_Coo_," and you laugh, because you should have expected it.

Haley talks to you in that maternal way she always reserves for quiet moments when she wants you to tell her exactly how you're feeling, and you smile and tell her she's a sweetheart, but that you're fine and you don't need a babysitter, no matter what your best friend says. Haley laughs and says that she just doesn't want to suffer the wrath of Brooke Davis, and you smile again. Haley just shakes her head.

"What?" you ask curiously.

"A smile."

"Okay...?"

"It's good to see," Haley says, placing her hand over your forearm. Simple words. Simple concept. Big meaning, apparently.

She tends to dinner and tells you to go get the boys, and you laugh at the two Scotts, father and son, playing with a little plastic hoop in the backyard of the house. Jamie calls you Aunt Peyton, and your heart melts a little. He's too young and innocent to know how much you wanted that official title, but when he tells you to come help him beat his daddy, you realize that it's just a name, and if he wants to call you by it and think of you that way, you'll let him. Maybe you _can_ choose your family.

That same innocence is what makes the boy launch into a story about his uncle Lucas as you're all eating dinner, and you smile and listen intently because it's not his fault Lucas broke your heart once upon a time. You ignore the sympathetic looks from Nathan and Haley, and you roll your eyes when you're doing dishes afterward and Haley asks if you're alright.

"I _can_ still hear his name, you know," you say with a laugh, not only because it's true, but because you want everyone to stop walking on eggshells.

"We just worry," Haley says like it's just that obvious.

"I know. And I love you for it. But if you keep treating me like a baby, I can't be held responsible for my actions."

"Understood!" she laughs. You're shaking your head as you dry a glass, and you almost drop it on the floor at her next statement. "Skills says you're doing better than everyone thinks you are."

You smile again (how many times is that now?) and you wonder how much he talks about you.

And you think you love that he knows that about you when no one else seems to.

You hug Jamie when you say goodbye, and you lift him into your arms because it feels good to do it. He wraps his little hand all up in one of your loose curls, and he asks if you'll 'hang out' with him sometime soon. You laugh because it's hilarious that a four (almost five, he'd be quick to correct) year old says things like 'hang out'. You tell him you'll see him in a couple days, and maybe even stop at the candy store, and his eyes light up and you hug him again because you feel like you have to.

When Nathan drops you at the door to the apartment building, he innocently mentions how much time you're spending with Skills, and you turn to him quickly like that's something to be guilty about. It's not, and you know that, but you're still worried about what other people (Lucas) might say.

Nathan looks at you almost a little too knowingly, and he says that Skills is a great guy, and you should spend time with whoever you want to, and it feels something like approval, though you're not sure you really need it from him or anyone else. But there's something running through you that feels a little like relief. Like maybe you want to know that it's okay for you to move on, though that's exactly what everyone's been telling you to do all along.

Because if you're being honest, living without Lucas is something you're so used to doing, that it doesn't really seem that hard at all. And really? You're kind of starting to be happy without him. Genuinely so. You've got great friends and a great job and you don't need him around to dictate how much you smile or how much you feel. You're not sure why it's taken so long to realize that, but you're glad to be figuring it out now.

When you walk into the apartment, Skills has on just a pair of those ridiculously baggy shorts he wears and nothing else. His body is a little shiny, and he's got a towel in his hand, and you think it might be time to start knocking. But (not for the first time) you eye his body because it's nice, and you don't care if he sees. You wonder if you might want him to see.

And you think he might be eyeing you, too.

"What the hell?" you ask with a laugh.

"It's my place! You're lucky I have this much on," he says, and you roll your eyes and step in a little further.

You kick off your shoes and pull the envelope from your back pocket as you drop your bag to the floor. "I got you something."

"Lap dance?" he asks jokingly.

"In your dreams," you say seductively, and then you start to laugh because that's all just ridiculous.

Isn't it?

"What is it?" He stops laughing long enough to ask, and he rubs his arm where you just hit him, and you roll your eyes as you hand him the envelope. His eyes go wide when he opens it, and you smile. "Are you serious?"

"Next Thursday. You in?"

He's got you in his arms so fast that you don't get a chance to remind him that he's a little bit wet, and you laugh when he says, "hell yes!" into your hair. "Thank you. How did you...How in the hell?" he asks, looking at the tickets like they're gold or something.

"I know the promoter. He owed me a favour," you say nonchalantly.

Truthfully, the guy is an ass and you had to go through four assistants, his daughter, his housekeeper and his wife to get him on the phone, and even then, he'd said he wouldn't promise anything. When you called his cell phone four times in a day, he decided maybe it wasn't so hard after all.

You're not sure why you went through all the trouble, but the way Skills is looking at you with something akin to amusement or...adoration?...makes you think it might have been worth it.

----

He insists you take his SUV to the concert in Raleigh, and when you ask him why - indignantly, of course - he tells you he knows all the history of your car and he doesn't want to end up stranded on the side of the road, and you scowl at him, but he promises to let you control the radio, and that feels like a fair trade.

He picks you up early in the afternoon, since you've decided to make a little getaway of this whole thing, and you're clutching your overnight bag tightly for a reason you can't quite comprehend. You might be nervous. You haven't shared a bed with a man in ages, and when you called to book the hotel - the one Brooke insisted she'd pay for, for some reason - they had only one room available, and it had a king sized bed. Surely the two of you can share a king sized bed with no problem, right? He shot you a cheeky look when you told him, and he promised he'd be nothing less than a gentleman.

"You better have something good," he says when you pull a CD out of your bag. You look at him as if to tell him that of course you do, and he smiles when he hears the opening beat to a song by The Roots. "Alright. P. Sawyer, keepin' it sexy."

He asks you if you remember that time - you had just started dating Lucas - when he came into your bedroom looking for music and he'd said something about you and Lucas making sense. You nod your head and bite your lip, and you really hope there's a point to him saying all this. He tells you that maybe high school Lucas and Peyton made sense, but grown up Lucas and Peyton don't, and the way he says it lets you know that maybe he believes it and maybe it's the truth and maybe you should believe it, too.

There's something in his voice that has you thinking long after he's stopped talking and turned the stereo back up. It almost sounded like he was hoping you'd get over Lucas. Maybe that's all in your head.

But _why_ would it be in your head?

You go to dinner before the concert, and you can't help but smile when he takes you to his favourite restaurant, and it's a deep south style barbecue.

"Bit of a cliché, isn't it?" you ask quietly as you walk through the door. You've learned, since you two have started this friendship, that pretty much nothing offends him.

So when he stops in his tracks and you turn back to look at him, your heart drops a little.

"Is this because I'm black?" he asks, and then you both start to laugh, because it's not really funny at all, but he can make almost anything funny. That's part of the reason you love hanging out with him.

The food is insanely good, and you laugh when he tells you there's barbecue sauce on your nose. You wipe it away and shrug your shoulder, and he tells you that one of his favourite things about you is that you aren't prissy.

"Prissy?" you ask incredulously. "I don't think I've heard that word since the playground."

"What I mean is...look at you," he says, and you lean forward a little, urging him to continue. "You're this sexy as hell girl, but you drink beer and swear and eat ribs like a dude."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Oh, hell yeah," he says, watching you appreciatively.

And it's been a long time since anyone watched you appreciatively. It feels nice, and you ask yourself if it's just the idea of it, or if it's his almost-black eyes meeting yours. If it's him _and_ the idea, all combined together.

Your thoughts are interrupted when the waitress comes by and asks if you want another beer, and he answers yes before you can.

"Come on!" he says when you look at him like he's crazy. He gestures to his plate of food and you raise your brow. "Chicken-n-beer."

"Wrong rapper."

"Luda!" he laughs, and you just shake your head. "Food and Liquor?"

"Lupe."

"It's Dark And Hell Is Hot."

"DMX."

"Damn, girl." He shakes his head at your knowledge of music, and you definitely like that you can impress him. "Alright. The Love Movement."

You scoff and lean forward a little bit. "A Tribe Called Quest."

"Thugs Are Us."

"Trick Daddy. Come on, Skills. At least _try_ to challenge me," you tease him.

"I give," he says, and he holds up his hands. "I didn't know you were so into rap."

"Well, see, I knew this guy in high school who used to come into my room and ask for records. I started beefing up my collection after that," you say, and he smiles, knowing he's influenced your musical taste and how important that is.

You walk to the venue, since it's close to the hotel and you're both a little buzzed, and it's a little crazy once you get inside. There are tons of people, but you obviously expected it. And like it when he takes your hand so you don't lose each other in the crowd. Some young 'thug' as Skills calls him, eyes you a little inappropriately, and Skills pulls you closer to him for some reason, and you don't question it, but you smile at him. There's something about being taken care of again that makes you forget all about the one man who isn't taking care of you and be appreciative of all the people who are.

The set is amazing. It's a spectacle (it's Kanye, so why would you expect anything less?) and it's pretty damn good, if you do say so. Skills bobs his head and mouths the words, and you laugh at him when he tries to sing Heartless. You join in because it's fun, and it's fitting, and he's got his arm around your shoulder as you both belt out, _"So you wanna walk around like you don't know me. You got a new friend, while I got homies."_ Skills laughs again and tells you he's your homie, and you shake your head, but you tell him that you know.

After the show, you're both on a post-concert high, but your buzz has worn off and you go out in search of more alcohol, not that you probably really need it.

He buys a six pack while you search for a very specific kind of candy, and he insists you let him pay. He threatens to make you "walk your skinny ass home," and you roll your eyes, but put your money away.

You end up in your hotel room, and he pulls his shirt off immediately, and you make a joke about who hates wearing a shirt more, him or Nathan. He just shrugs his shoulders, and you grab your pajamas and head into the bathroom to change. You hear him open two cans of beer and turn on the television, and you've missed spending time alone with a boy. They all do the same thing. Beer, relaxing, ESPN. It's a beautiful predictability that's oddly comforting.

You flop down on the bed and reach for the beer that's waiting for you on the night stand, and once you've taken a long sip, you burrow beneath the covers.

"Try'na hide the heart print pajamas?" he asks with a laugh.

"Dude, shut up! They're Brooke's," you tell him, shoving him gently.

"Why are you wearin' Brooke's pjs?"

"Because." He raises his brow, and your face goes red, and you hate that he had to ask.

"You don't wear pajamas," he says in amusement.

"Not usually," you say softly. You can't believe you're telling him this.

"Well, you know you don't have to, right?"

"I'll be fine, thank you." You laugh as you pull the blankets up a little bit, then you shoot him a warning glance. "And you better stay on your side."

"You keep wearin' clothes, and I'll stay on my side."

There's a hint of something mischievous in his eyes, and you fake a scowl and look away, because you're afraid that if you don't, you'll start over analyzing things.

You're both too tired after one beer and a bunch of sports highlights to drink any more, and you get ridiculously comfortable with all the space on your side of the bed. He steps out of his jeans, and you roll your eyes when he shoots you a flirty look that you know he doesn't mean seriously. Well, that you _think_ he doesn't mean seriously.

You turn on your side and turn out the light, and you barely feel him get into bed. But you know he's there, and it's nice. The two of you have never fallen asleep together, not even on opposite ends of the sofa or anything, and there's nothing really romantic about this, but it still feels good. Just a calming presence with you that you're kind of getting used to when he's around.

"Urban Hang Suite," he says from behind you.

"Maxwell. Nice try. Good record, too." You roll onto your back and look at him in the darkness, and you almost laugh at how many feet are separating the two of you. "That's not a rap album, though."

"No. But it's damn sexy," he says.

There's a split second there where you think you might kiss him. It's crazy, and you don't do it, but it's the first time you've even thought of kissing someone who isn't Lucas. You aren't sure if that's the alcohol. Or maybe if it's the fact that since you've come back, he's been the one person treating you like you never left.

Like you and Lucas never happened.

You fall asleep still wondering if he's ever thought about kissing you.

When you open your eyes, there's a pair of arms around you, and you let yourself enjoy it because you can, and you do, and there's no one there to remind you that this isn't your man. It feels nice, and he's not holding you too tight (Julian always did) and you feel like you want to fall back to sleep and maybe not go back to Tree Hill yet.

He wakes up a while later and you're just barely asleep. He lets out a noise that you try not to think sounds like contentment over waking up with a girl in his arms, and he doesn't let you go right away. You find yourself liking it.

"'Morning," he says.

"Hmm." You've never been a morning person, and he knows that.

"This bed," he mumbles. He says nothing more, and you don't need him to. You just nod against his chest.

There's no indication that he wants to let you go, and you don't want to move, and so the two of you lay like that, both awake and both tired and both in love with the plush bed and linens you lay upon.

"Coffee?" he suggests after a while. You merely nod again and he pulls you tighter quickly before he lets you go, and you're not sure what that was for, but you find yourself smiling.

You don't move from the center of the bed, and he laughs at you, but you just stretch and he tells you that you look cute. Then he tells you to get your ass in gear so you can go to Starbucks, and you groan and throw the covers off and tell him you hate him.

It's later than you thought it was, and checkout is in an hour. He lets you shower first, and you can't stop thinking about him, and you aren't sure if you love it or hate it. But all you can think of is how he looks at you sometimes and how it felt to have him call you sexy and cute and what it felt like to have your hand in his and to wake up in his arms.

You might be going crazy. You wonder if you'll always just attach yourself to any boy who gives you the time of day, and you pull on your clothes and tell yourself that it's just Skills. He's a flirt, and you flirt back, but it's all just in good fun.

----

Lucas is back. You haven't seen him. You think that's for the best, and Skills smiles at you half-heartedly when you say it, and you wonder if he doesn't believe you. You're not sure _you_ really believe you.

You still miss him, and you still wish you could have made it work, but you're past thinking all that's all your fault. Lucas has made choices, too, and he could have chosen you. He could have chosen to stay that night, or he could have chosen to call you in the years you were apart. But he didn't. He could have not kissed you then proposed to her. But he did. He could have listened to Haley's advice and not gone through with the wedding (she told Brooke, and Brooke told you). But he didn't.

"Am I crazy?" you ask Brooke after a few days.

"I'm not sure how I'm supposed to answer that."

"Bitch," you mumble, and you both laugh good-naturedly. "For keeping my distance, I mean."

"No. You're not. Because you're both hurting, and he's a disaster, Peyton. It'll only confuse you more if he looks at you with that squint and little smile thing he does. And you know he'll do it, because that's just always the way he's looked at you, and I don't even think _he_ knows what it means."

"Right," you say, and you know she is.

When she calls you later that day and tells you that she's getting a baby, you're sitting in your office with Haley, and you've got no clue what she's talking about. She says something about a purple monkey, then hangs up, and you and Haley decide you should probably intervene.

You all end up at Haley's place, and guess who shows up. When he asks if you can talk, you can't say no, and you kind of don't want to. Brooke's too excited and frazzled to tell you it's a bad idea, and Haley's tending to Jamie. Nathan shoots Lucas a look that says, "don't lead her on." You kind of love him for that.

He tells you it's not your fault, and you're thankful, and you believe him. He tells you she's coming back, and you try not to let it affect you, and you _don't_ believe him.

But when you leave each other, he's got a confidence about him; like he really _knows_ that she's going to return to Tree Hill and tell him she still wants to marry him.

And what do you know?

----

Jamie's birthday party is an interesting day filled with more emotions than any one person should feel. You know who that little jersey is from, and you chat with Deb quickly, because she's visibly rattled, and she thanks you for helping calm her down just a little. You find Nathan with his jaw set and his hands braced on the counter, and you remind him that it's a nice thing for his son to have. He smiles that little smile he always used to give when he knew you were right, and he laughs when he asks if you got any cake, and you hold up two fingers.

You had a little run-in with Lindsey earlier, but she's talking to Lucas now, and as much as it breaks your heart, it looks like it might be healing his, and you think that maybe this is how it's supposed to be.

"Hey ma," you hear a helium-infused voice say. You laugh when you turn around and see Skills standing there with a balloon in his hand.

"You're a child. You know that, right?" He shrugs one shoulder and you shake your head.

"How you holding up?"

"I'm..."

"Don't lie to me," he says, and you smile as you roll your eyes.

"Waiting until it's not rude of me to leave," you admit.

"They'll understand," he says, gesturing to where Nathan and Haley are laughing with the birthday boy.

"I know."

"You don't want to lose face," he says, like he's been let in on some master plan. You let out a sigh and you're just about to ask if that's stupid and childish, when he says, "good idea."

"So what do I do now?" you ask.

He hands you a balloon and glances to a crowd of children in the living room.

"We make some kids smile," he says.

And so the two of you take turns inhaling helium (that stuff _can't_ be good for you) and you listen to the adorable giggles of all the five year olds, requesting that you say lines from their favourite movies or sing their favourite songs. You don't notice Lucas or Lindsey for the rest of the day, and Brooke and Haley smile as they watch you, and you know they're talking about you.

But then Skills asks one of the little boys who the prettiest girl in the room is, and the boy says, "her," and points at you, and your heart melts. Skills says, "yeah," and you glance at him, but he looks away before you might be able to recognize any emotion in his eyes.

----

Angie is a beautiful baby. You're smitten with her.

But she won't stop crying and you feel like if you don't get a good night's sleep sometime soon, you're going to self-destruct.

You walk out of your room in your little shorts and tee shirt, and Brooke looks almost as bad as you do, and she says she's sorry. You know she means it and that it's not her fault, but you can't take it anymore. You tell her you're going to Skills' place, and you grab your keys and leave before she questions you.

You're glad. Because you're not sure how you'd answer if she asked you 'why Skills?'. It was just the first name that came to mind. You don't know why that is.

You don't bother calling before you drive to his place, and no one but the two of you and Mouth and Millie know that you have a key to the apartment. You let yourself in, and curse beneath your breath when you trip over...something...on the way to his bedroom. Sure, you could sleep on the couch but, well, you just don't want to.

He wakes up when you enter his room, and you drop your phone and keys on the table next to the bed and crawl in next to him. He knows the troubles you've been having at home, and he's not asking questions, and you don't feel like talking.

This bed is a hell of a lot smaller than the last one you two shared, and you are very aware of that. But then he immediately wraps you in his arms and you start thinking about that instead. You're not sure how, but it feels even better than the last time. This room smells like him and feels like him and it's just messy enough to be 'lived in' but not dirty.

"You know, girls don't usually look like this till I'm done with them," he says, running his hand through your bed head, and you'd hit him if you had the energy.

"Shut up."

"Disappointed you're wearing pajamas," he adds.

"I grabbed them on the way out," you say, because apparently you're having a conversation, though you really just want to sleep.

"It's a good look," he says quietly. "Go to sleep."

So you do. You're out within minutes, and you even dream about sleeping, that's how good it is. Skills' bed is oddly comfortable, and when you wake up at 6:30, you don't even move before you let yourself close your eyes once more.

When you wake up again, he's looking at you, and you smile and mumble thank you, and he grins and says that's what he's used to hearing in the morning. You laugh a sleepy, but rested laugh, and you shove him a little, but he keeps you close, and you're starting to think you could get used to this.

But then you both tense up when you hear a familiar voice.

"Skills! Come on, man! Practice! Kick whatever girl's in your bed out, and get your ass in gear!"

It's Lucas, and you pull away quickly and curse, and Skills looks like he's about to pass out, and all you can really think is that you should not feel guilty. Nothing happened, and even if it had, it certainly shouldn't matter to Lucas.

You both know that it would.

"Hey," you say, catching his attention. "Just go. I'll lock up when I leave."

"You sure?"

"Skills? It's not like I'm his wife or anything," you say. You mean it as a joke, and it's a little funny, and you love that he laughs; that he knows that you don't need him to get all sympathetic and worried.

He pulls on his clothes and you watch from the comfort of his bed. He looks good in Raven blue, and you tell him so, and he smiles at you like that's the best compliment he's ever received.

He kisses your forehead, something he's never really done, then he tells you he'll call you later, and he slips out the door. You can hear Lucas' voice again, but you don't care.

Because you can still feel Skills' lips on your skin, and you're smiling even though there's no one around to see it.

----

You hear murmurs that Lindsey might be coming back, and you roll your eyes, not because you don't want her to, but because people still think they have to whisper about it all.

Truthfully? You're kind of over it. Hanging on is a beautiful concept, but you can only do it for so long before it starts getting pathetic. So you've stopped. It surprises you how easy it was.

You walk out of your office one night after working late, and there's a very familiar face at the bar. You smile to yourself (he makes you do that a lot) and make your way over, and you see that he's dressed a little nicer than usual, and he's got a rose in his hand. You hate that you hate that he might be meeting someone else.

"Hey."

"What's up, Peyton?" he asks. He rarely calls you by your first name, and you furrow your brow.

"What are you all nervous about?"

"Nothin'."

"Liar!" you say with a laugh, shoving him a little. "What's wrong?"

"I was just...supposed to meet someone, but..."

"You think she came in, took one look at you and left?" you offer jokingly, scrunching your face at him until he gives you a smile.

"I didn't until now," he says. He laughs and you gesture for a couple drinks. "How'd you know it was a...blind date?"

"Single rose? Come on."

"Right."

"You okay?" you ask sincerely, because you care about him and you want to know.

But in the back of your mind, you can't help but wonder why he's not telling you he was waiting for you or something. It's silly and selfish so you don't say a thing, and when your beer arrives, you take a swig to keep yourself quiet.

"Fine. I've got you now," he says. You roll your eyes, but sit on the stool next to him and he clinks his bottle against yours.

"You look good, Skills."

"I know."

You laugh and tip your head back, and you try to pinpoint the moment you came to love that confidence about him.

You notice Deb out of the corner of your eye, and she's looking at you like something's wrong, so you offer a wave while Skills sips his beer, and she just sends a smile and waves back discretely, then leaves. You're not sure what that's all about, but you have to stop caring when he starts talking.

"You know you always look good, right?" he asks.

"What?" you laugh.

"I mean it. You're like...I don't keep callin' you sexy just for fun."

"Oh. Well, thanks." You tuck your hair behind your ear, and the way you've said the words is less than convincing.

"Naw. Don't do that," he insists. He turns to you, and you have to grin a little. "Don't be all shy."

"Stop," you whisper. You never were good at accepting compliments. Especially the ones you wanted to hear.

"I'll say it all night long, baby," he says, and you raise your brow. "Didn't mean it like that. Glad you heard it that way, though."

"Okay what's...what's going on right now?" you say, almost laughing in disbelief.

"I only had a date tonight because I didn't know if you were over Luke."

"Oh."

"But I think you are."

"I am," you say, and you mean it. You are over him. That had a lot to do with the guy who's sitting in front of you, telling you he wants...something.

"And I think I'm crazy about you," he says. Your eyes lock and you can feel the colour rushing to your cheeks. "You're kind of amazing."

"Skills," you whisper. It somehow seems like the best thing. The way he looks at you lets you know it might be.

"And you know I wouldn't be saying all this if I didn't think you're crazy about me too," he adds.

"So...Now...what?" you ask, shaking your head a little as you laugh.

"See, this is normally the part where I'd kiss you," he explains. "I mean, if you want me to."

You bit your lip subtly before you break a smile, and you see his gaze move to your lips.

"You remember after the wedding?" you ask, and he nods his head, but is confused about why you're bringing that up. "Let's go there."

"We went everywhere," he reminds you.

"The park," you say, and he smiles and nods.

You both drink the last of your beers quickly and leave, and as soon as you're outside, you slip your hand into his, and he presses a kiss to your temple, and all you want is more, more, more.

"This doesn't feel real," you say softly, more to yourself than to him.

"Lots of women dream about me."

You shove him playfully in that way you're known to do, but he pulls you against him and wraps his arms around you, and you notice for the first time that you're the same height as him. He's no taller than you, and you're no taller than him, and his lips are right there, inches from yours without any effort.

And when he kisses you, you feel it through your whole body; in places you thought were long gone and wouldn't feel that again.

You hum against his lips, because that kiss feels damn good, and better than you expected, and he's holding you as tightly as he can. He doesn't let you go, and when you part, it's just for air, and then you're kissing again in the middle of the sidewalk on a dark street in your hometown, and you think that might be the best thing in the world.

"God, that's good," you say when he pulls away and runs his thumb over your bottom lip. He kisses you once more, gently, and when you open your eyes, you can see that he's smiling without even looking at his lips.

"Yes, it is."

"Skills?"

"Hmm." He's looking at your lips, and you really want him to kiss you again. But you want to do more than that, too.

"I don't want to go to the park," you say, and he smirks, knowing exactly what you're getting at without you having to explain. "Your place?"

He kisses you all too quickly, then you're walking hand in hand to his apartment, and you don't care who might see you because no one else matters but you and this man who's helped you wade through everything and never batted an eye.

You're locked in an embrace when you stumble through the door, and you're unbuttoning his shirt, and neither of you thought that Mouth and Millie would be sitting on the sofa watching television. But they are, and they smirk at you, and you smile sheepishly before Skills pulls you down the hall towards his bedroom.

"They know anyway," he manages after kicking the door shut.

"What?"

"They know how I felt," he explains, though he's unbuckling your belt and kissing your neck as he speaks. "How I feel."

"That's so sweet," you say, pulling back a little bit. He looks a little bashful, standing there with his shirt half undone and his hands now on your hips. "So sweet."

"What I gotta do to get you to sleep next to me naked?" he asks, and you close your eyes and laugh, resting your forehead against his.

"You're doing it."

"Thought so."

----

You're wrapped up in Skills' arms, in his sheets, in his bed one morning a few days later, when you hear voices outside in the apartment talking about Lucas and Lindsey getting married in Vegas. You laugh softly and shake your head, and when you look over, he's awake and smiling at you.

"Morning, beautiful."

"I really love waking up with you," you say softly, because it's true, and it's sweet, and you'd love to hear it if it were you.

"Hmm," he mumbles, kissing your forehead. "Wanna go to Vegas?"

You laugh, because you love that he can make fun of his best friend like that, and that he knows you're there with him, and you won't be offended if he says something so blatantly Lucas and Lindsey-related.

"I don't want to go anywhere."

"We have to tell him sooner or later," he reminds you.

You pull away a little bit, then climb up onto his lap. His eyes move over your body in appreciation (you really do love sleeping naked) and you lean down to kiss him. His hands find your thighs, sending a sweet sensation through you, and you brush your nose against his.

"Later," you say.

He doesn't argue.

**_-Fin-_**


End file.
